


The coefficient of the body

by victoria_p (musesfool)



Category: Batgirl (Comic), DCU - Comicverse
Genre: F/M, Roof Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-18
Updated: 2011-09-18
Packaged: 2017-10-23 20:36:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/254733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musesfool/pseuds/victoria_p
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steph might regret this later, but never because of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The coefficient of the body

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to Snacky and Silveronthetree for looking it over and making it a better story.

the coefficient of the body  
is another body  
~"Manifesto" by Margot Schilpp

*

The sound of the window opening startles Steph from the light doze she's fallen into over her bio textbook. She comes up swinging, her fist caught in a large, warm hand.

"Hey." Dick's eyes are really blue up close, and his breath smells like stale coffee. He lets go of her hand and drops a backpack onto her unmade bed. She tries to unobtrusively kick a pair of dirty underwear under the desk, and he smiles.

"Hey," she says, wary. He's not the (ex-)Robin she's used to having climb through her window. She has to blink away thoughts of Dick in the original Robin costume along with the sleepiness that's making her reaction time slow. "What's going on?"

"Work." He opens the backpack and tosses something purple and silky at her. She catches it automatically. It's a cocktail dress. "Foundling Hospital gala tonight." He pulls out a pair of shoes that probably cost as much as her mom makes in a week and sets them on her desk. The heels are higher than any she's worn before. Even if she can't walk in them, they'll be good for stabbing.

She holds the dress against herself speculatively.

"Alfred bought it," Dick says. "So it should fit."

"Okay, so I get why Damian is out, but why don't you just take Barbara?"

"She doesn't like the paparazzi. If she and I show up together--" He frowns and shakes his head. "It becomes a whole big thing."

Steph nods. She's never really asked Barbara about what happened with Dick; Barbara doesn't really encourage that kind of personal conversation, and Steph's always been so wrapped up in her own drama that she's never really pressed the issue. So she just says, "I need to shave my legs."

He follows her to the bathroom and leans against the doorjamb as she pulls off her sweats and grabs her razor and a washcloth. She's used to Tim's shyness, so she opens her mouth to say something about privacy, but he's already talking again.

"They're selling illegal adoptions," he says. "But Oracle hasn't been able to find anything in their databases, and I've searched the hospital pretty thoroughly, and I haven't found anything. The gala tonight is at the old Woodard mansion. Kurt Woodard is on the board at the hospital. Not many people know this, but he lost most of his fortune in the recent financial crisis."

"So he's got both motive and opportunity," Steph says, so he knows she's paying attention even as she scrapes the razor up her shin.

Dick nods. "While I'm charming everyone in the ballroom, you're going to poke around the house and look for something we can use."

"Good plan," she says, rinsing off her legs and shooing him out of the bathroom so she can get dressed.

Once they're in the car, though, she's got a whole bunch of second thoughts, starting with the taser she's strapped high up on her thigh, just in case. The dress is swishy enough to hide it, but there's no margin of error if there's any slippage.

"If the taser slips," she starts.

"It won't," he says, and then his hand is up under her skirt, checking the strap. The touch is impersonal but his hand is still large and warm and very high up on her thigh, in a place that hasn't been touched by anyone else in longer than Steph would care to admit. She can feel herself flushing, but thankfully, he ignores it. She glances at the rearview mirror; the expression Alfred is wearing is probably supposed to be neutral, but he looks like he's laughing at her with his eyes. She supposes it's all very tame compared to what Bruce allegedly got up to when he was shoring up his cover, but she's still trying to prove she's not easy or irresponsible.

"Hands," she says primly. The heat of Dick's touch lingers even when he moves his hand away.

The grin he flashes her is certifiably panty-melting and completely unfair under the circumstances, and the sad part is, she's pretty sure he's not even being intentionally seductive. She has to clear her throat as she smoothes down the skirt.

Dick is all business when he hands her the earpiece, though, and he and Oracle walk her through the floor plans.

He hands her something the size of a small compact. "Use this if you find anything."

"Ooh, a secret Bat-camera?" she says, slipping it into the little beaded clutch purse that matches the heels. One day, she's going to have to get Alfred to take her shopping.

"Scanner," he answers. "It'll transmit everything you scan to Oracle."

"Awesome. You really do have the best toys."

The grin he gives her this time is smug. "I know."

*

The house is large enough that it's easy to pretend to be lost, but once Steph wanders down a dim hallway, nobody bothers her. It's kind of weird that she's here undercover as herself, that for this mission, her own face is better cover than her mask and uniform. It's the one identity she doesn't have to share with anyone else, and no one can take from her. Not that she's still worried that Babs and Bruce will snatch Batgirl away. Not much, anyway. Maybe it hadn't been hers to begin with, but she's putting her own particular stamp on it now, the way Cass had, the way she hadn't been allowed to as Robin, where she'd been nothing but a placeholder, despite Bruce's eventual assurances to the contrary.

She searches a handful of rooms, noting the grooves in the carpet and unfaded patches on the walls, indications that Woodard has already started selling off his possessions, some of which, if the giant old mahogany desk she's breaking into is any example, have probably been in the family for generations.

The lower left-hand drawer has a false bottom, and beneath it, she finds the evidence Dick's looking for, a set of three small moleskines with notes encrypted in a code so simple she can break it without a key. She's scanning the last one when Dick comes into the room and closes the door quietly behind him.

"You've been gone a while. O said you've got it."

She nods. "Yeah. Almost done."

"You've got incoming," Oracle says. "About fifteen feet away and heading in your direction."

Steph shoves the last notebook back into the secret compartment and pushes the door closed. As she turns, Dick moves between her legs.

"Sit on the desk," he mutters, his mouth against her ear, and then he's slipping his hands up under her skirt (she's really glad she shaved) and sliding his lips down her neck.

She gasps and jerks against him in surprise.

"Easy," he murmurs. "I've got you. They're going to see what they expect to see. Though a little more enthusiasm would be nice." She opens her mouth to defend herself and gasps instead when he presses closer. "That's good," he says, tangling a hand in her hair and tipping her head back so he can skim his mouth along her collarbone and lick the hollow of her throat. "I'm going to kiss you now, okay?"

He doesn't really give her a chance to say no. He sucks on her lower lip and then slips his tongue into her mouth. He tastes like coffee. She clings to his shoulders, her body responding even though she knows it's just an act. She whimpers when her nipples, already hardening, brush against his chest. He hums in satisfaction at the sound and then sucks on her tongue. It's been a long time since anyone kissed her, so it's possible that she's just forgotten how good it feels, but she's prepared to say that he's an expert at kissing. She wraps one leg around him and presses closer, fingers tangling in the hair on the nape of his neck.

She can hear the door open and she peeks through her lashes to see Woodard's son and some other guy leering appreciatively. The other guy laughs low and mutters something, and Woodard's son pulls out his phone and takes a picture.

Dick's mouth is hot and wet against her chest where the neckline of her dress dips low, and she arches into it, vaguely aware that it's a terrible idea and also that she should probably be embarrassed, but it feels too good to push him away, even after she hears the door click shut again. He seems to agree, because he doesn't stop; he's sliding the straps off her shoulders when Oracle coughs in their ears.

"They're gone," she says. "You can stop now."

Steph didn't know it was possible for her whole body to blush, but the heat of making out has turned into the horrible burning humiliation of making out with a guy while his ex-fiancée is listening in on comms. Even if said ex-fiancée has apparently moved on and is shacking up with Black Canary.

Dick clears his throat. "Just wanted it to be a convincing performance," he says. Steph isn't sure whether she should be pleased that he looks sheepish, too.

"I'm sure," Oracle replies, her voice dry as the desert. Steph is totally bringing her bagels for the rest of the week.

They slip out the back entrance, past the cater waiters smoking in the humid night air and down the long gravel driveway to where Alfred waits in the Bentley.

The ride home is awkward. Steph keeps waiting for Dick to give her some earnest speech about the mission and not letting hormones fog her mind, but he just stares out the window, lost in his own thoughts. She's not going to bring it up if he doesn't, but it's just hanging out there between them like a giant elephant.

"You had a pet elephant as a kid, huh?" she says before she can stop herself, and then she literally face-palms at the inanity of it.

"How did you know about that?" He turns toward her, forehead creased in confusion.

She shrugs. "Tim."

"Of course." He smiles. "Her name is Zitka. She wasn't exactly mine but--" He shakes his head. "She's still with Haly's, though she doesn't perform anymore. I'll introduce you next time they're in town."

She can't help but smile back, even though she knows it'll probably never happen. "Cool."

The awkwardness dissipates, and that should be it. Dick makes Alfred stop the car before they leave the city, and gets out to go on patrol. "Go home," he tells her before he shuts the door. "You did good work tonight."

The words sound sincere, but the look on his face when he says them makes her blush. She's glad it's dark.

She lets Alfred drop her home, but can't settle once she's there, and not just because she's used to being out later than this. Eventually, she crawls into bed and slips a hand down between her legs to jerk off. She's still learning what she likes, trying to own her body and her desire instead of always being ashamed for having it.

Sex had never actually been about sex for her when she was younger; it had always been about being wanted, about belonging. That's why it had always been different--better--with Tim. Because Tim hadn't actually wanted sex--they'd certainly never had it--he'd wanted _her_ , and made her feel like she was worth the wanting.

She gets that same thrill from Dick choosing her--trusting her--for tonight's job. It's as much of a turn-on as the heat of his tongue in her mouth, the way he'd fit perfectly in the cradle of her hips. He'd been as turned on as she was, and even though she knows that was probably just an automatic physiological response, she gets hot thinking about it. She thumbs one aching nipple and thinks about his hands and his lips and how they felt on her skin, but when she's got her eyes closed, she can't help but see Tim's face, even though she tells herself (and anyone else who'll listen) that she's over him.

It's not the best orgasm she's ever had, and she's not sure who she's thinking about when she comes, but it relieves the dull ache, anyway, and eventually, she falls asleep.

*

They make page six of the Gotham Gazette, Dick's name in bold, being held up as Bruce's true heir. Steph is just the unnamed blonde on his arm, which is fine by her. She's got half a dozen texts from Kara, each one with more exclamation points than the last. Before she's got time to answer any of them, Kara's knocking at her window.

"It's starting to feel like Grand Central Station in here," she says once Kara's inside.

"Oh my god, Steph, tell me everything," Kara says.

"How do you even know?"

Kara goes over to the computer on Steph's desk and opens up ontd_gotham.

"Seriously?"

"It's got the hi-res version of the picture," Kara says, clicking on it.

Steph stares at Dick's back, the width of his shoulders as he stands between her legs, which are wrapped around his hips, and leans into her body. Her legs look better than she expected; it's probably the stupidly high heels. She can see her arm and some of her hair, but his body blocks the rest of her body from the viewer. She'd thank him for that if they were ever going to discuss it again. Which they're not.

"How did you know it was me?"

Kara sniffs disdainfully. "Who else would it be?"

Steph can feel herself blushing. "It was just a cover."

"Uh huh."

Steph cocks her head and studies the photo more closely. "At least they got his good side."

Kara makes a scoffing noise and says, "He doesn't have a bad one," and Steph laughs.

It's worth all the texts and the embarrassment and the awkwardness with Babs, though, when the lead story on the six o'clock news is that the Executive Committee of the Foundling Hospital, chaired by Kurt Woodard, has been arrested for brokering illegal adoptions and selling babies.

That's when Tim leaves her a voicemail that says, "Good work." It shouldn't mean as much to her as it does.

*

Steph hears the cackling and has just enough time to curse whoever it is before her controlled swing becomes a stomach-churning fall.

"O? O?" There's nothing but silence in her ear, and she wonders if something bigger than she thought is going on tonight, if she's just going to be the first to go. She wonders how both she and Oracle missed the cackler--Steph's willing to accept that she makes mistakes occasionally, but she's come to think of Oracle as pretty much omniscient in the field. She sucks in a deep breath and closes her eyes, trying not to think about everything she'll never get to do, and how much it will hurt when she ends up street pizza.

And then a big black shadow swoops out of nowhere and catches her. "Hey, Batgirl, going my way?"

They land on the roof of a three-story building and she looks up at him, trying to suck in enough air to say thank you, and he covers her mouth with his. The kiss is hard and hot and shocking, and she gasps into it.

"Hold that thought," he says. "I'll be right back."

"What happened?" she manages to ask.

"Sorry about that," Oracle says. "Since you're still talking to me, I take it B got there in time?"

Steph lets out a shaky laugh. "Yeah. Just in the nick of."

"He's always had a flair for the dramatic."

"He hides it well." Steph smiles when Barbara snorts. "You okay?"

"Huntress had a situation, but she handled it."

"Good, good." Steph leans against the ledge of the roof, willing her body to stop shaking.

Dick comes back, cape billowing. "It was one of Two-Face's goons, trying to score points with his boss. Cops are on their way."

She'd been fighting some of Penguin's goons. "I really wish they'd go back to announcing their team-ups ahead of time," Steph mutters and tries to ignore Dick's grin. It looks really weird with the cowl.

He says, "I'll make sure she gets home, O."

"All right. Be safe. Talk to you later."

Dick waits for a beat, and then his hands are tangled in her hair and he's kissing her again. He tastes minty, which he hadn't five minutes ago.

She pulls back for a second and stares at him incredulously. "You have Tic-Tacs?"

"It seemed polite," he says, running his mouth along the edge of her cowl. "I don't care that you don't, though I'm willing to share if you want one. They don't take up much space in the belt."

"I usually have gum," she says, or tries to, but his tongue is in her mouth again, and it's not that important. He seems to know how her costume works, because he's got the various bits undone so he can push his hands up under her top to palm her breasts. She wishes she didn't have the stupid, super-supportive, specially made Bat-bra on, but when he manages to snake a hand down into her tights, she's glad that at least she's not wearing granny panties tonight.

She gasps and thrusts against his hand when he curls a finger up into her cunt. The texture of his gauntlet is weird, but good. Definitely good. "I'd reciprocate," she says, feeling the need to keep the banter going, "but I don't want to get tased."

He laughs, and with the hand that's not in her tights, he starts undoing the booby traps on his own suit, and then guides her hand inside. He's hot and hard in her palm, and he lets out a low moan when she jerks him experimentally.

"How do you want to do this?" he says. He's flicked up the lenses on the cowl and she can see his eyes.

"Uh." They've already gone farther here than she ever got with Tim, which is basically the extent of her knowledge of hooking up with vigilantes on rooftops. "However you want." Which is not normally something she'd say to guys she's having sex with, back when she was having sex with random guys, but she trusts him, and she's pretty sure he knows what he's doing.

His smile gets wider and she isn't really prepared for that, or maybe it's the way he's touching her, but she's pretty sure she's going to come soon. And then he pulls his hand out of her tights and she whimpers.

He slides gracefully to the rooftop, his cape spread out beneath him, and pulls her down into his lap. She gasps, and then he's kissing her again, his tongue wet and hot in her mouth. Another dip into his belt and he's got a condom.

"Seriously, is there anything you don't carry in there?" she asks, loving the fact that she can _feel_ him laugh where they're pressed together.

He holds up the little foil square and she can see the yellow Gotham City Department of Health logo on it. Dr. Thompson used to keep a big bowl of them on the counter at the clinic, instead of those red and white peppermint candies everybody's grandmother always hands out.

"They're not actually for personal use," he says as he tears it open. "I give them to the working girls on the East End, tell them to insist on using them, and if anybody gives them a problem with that, to let me know."

This time, she kisses him, fierce and hot, and then has to pull away to breathe because he's shifting her up so he can slide inside. She closes her eyes and lets herself be in the moment, enjoys the feeling of fullness, the friction. The knowledge that he could be with anyone, but right now, he wants her.

"God," he says against her ear. "You're so wet. I've been thinking about this since we went to the gala. That night, I had to stop and jerk off before I could go out on patrol." He keeps talking, telling her what he wants to do to her, and it's hot but it's all _weird_. She can't stop the flow of random thoughts careening through her brain. He's _Batman_. Not, you know, original flavor Batman, but still, _Batman_. He makes it look easy, but she knows it has to weigh on him, like being Robin weighed on everyone who followed him. As if her thoughts aren't tangled enough, she wonders if this is what it's like to be Catwoman. She wonders if any of them are ever only themselves and how would she know? She pulls away for a second, trying to stop thinking, and he says, "Is everything okay?"

She huffs a small laugh. "I'm fucking _Batman_."

He goes completely still for a moment. "Please tell me you're not thinking of Bruce."

"I'm not! I mean, for one weird second I was, but not in a good way."

"Please don't do that." He sounds pained.

"You're _Batman_."

He thrusts up hard and tangles a hand in her hair while the other skims down to finger her clit, reminding her of where she is and who she's with, what she's--they're doing. "I'm not thinking about Barbara right now, and she was Batgirl before you were."

Except that right at this moment, he probably _is_ thinking of Barbara. Maybe he wasn't before--she hopes not, but it's always going to be Barbara's name first with him, the way that Bruce is always going to be Batman first to all of them--but she thinks it's nice of him to say it even if it isn't true.

"Sorry," she says, and she really is. She wants to be here, in this moment, with _him_ , so she kisses him again, trying to put all of that into the kiss, into the way she tightens around him and grinds down, the way she arches her back so she can rub her tits against his chest, even though he probably can't feel it through two layers of nomex and kevlar. She knows what guys like, or she used to, and she doesn't think she really needs to work that hard with Dick--he already seems to like her, and to know what she needs even before she does.

Her breath stutters out, humid and a little sour from adrenaline, and her whole body starts to tingle, orgasm so close she can practically taste it. He holds her gaze as it hits her, white-hot and overwhelming, and she keeps her eyes open as long as she can, making sure he knows she knows he's the one making her come, shattering her into little pieces that are only holding together because he's got his arms around her.

He wrings every last wave of it out of her, his fingers pressed tight against her clit, and she's still shaking when he loses it, his hips shoving up hard enough to jolt. She kisses him, swallows down whatever it is he's trying to say--she thinks it might be Batgirl. She doesn't want to know if it's Barbara.

She strokes her fingers over the stubbled skin of his jaw, and his eyes flutter open. This close, she can see the thin ring of blue surrounding the dilated pupils. She hooks her thumb in his lower lip, slick and swollen from their kisses, and he licks it, mouth already curving in a wide smile. She can only see half his face, and the ears of his cowl look ridiculous from this angle, but she's spent a lot of time trying to read the faces of people wearing masks, and there's nothing but joy in his expression. She might regret this later--she doesn't have the best track record when it comes to sex, and this has the potential to be a total clusterfuck when Babs and Tim find out--but not because of Dick. She could never regret him.

He nips the pad of her thumb and she pulls it away, pouting in mock pain.

"Okay?" he asks, brushing the backs of his fingers over her cheek.

"Yeah," she says. She laughs. "Yeah."

They clean up quickly, quietly, and efficiently. When he drops her off at home, he kisses her again, and there's something fiercely joyful about it.

"You know," he says just before he disappears into the shadows, "we should go train surfing."

The words don't make any sense to her, but she says, "Okay."

She hums as she strips off and gets ready for bed, and thinks that for a night that almost ended with her going splat on the pavement, it turned out to be pretty great.

end

~*~


End file.
